


Beginning of the End

by xbedhead



Category: Logan (2017) - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Cannon-Compliant, Movie Spoilers, character deaths referenced but not specified, movieverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 20:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbedhead/pseuds/xbedhead
Summary: “Been some time, Logan.” Caliban stood, waited a moment before asking, “Though I’m sure you’re a cultured man, I’d never have taken you for a purveyor of antiquities.”“You still dealin’ in papers?”Or…the story of how Caliban and Logan linked up before the events of Logan.





	Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> There’s so much history between Logan and Caliban in the few scenes that they have together in _Logan_. They’re an old married couple by then, all griping and snark – but there had to have been a friendship, or at least a grudging respect at the foundation to put Caliban in the position of caring for Charles with Logan in the first place. This is my take on how it all might have happened. 
> 
> This is not beta’d, so all mistakes are on me. Let me know if you see any weird tense jumps; I tend to write in the present tense, but I stuck with the past on this one.

 

The bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of a potential customer. He looked up from his crossword puzzle, momentarily blinded by the spray of brightness backlighting the hulking form that slipped silently through the entrance. His eyes quickly adjusted, though, as the door closed and the normal ambiance of low light was restored. As the man’s features emerged, Caliban almost smiled.

“Been some time, Logan.”

The man grunted and, as he neared the front counter, Caliban noticed the slight limp to his gate, then the smattering of gray hair, the wrinkles, a few scars peppering his solid face.

Logan coughed and the rattling in his lungs caused Caliban to wince involuntarily.

“Caliban,” Logan offered in lieu of a true greeting.

Caliban stood, waited a moment before asking, “Though I’m sure you’re a cultured man, Logan, I’d never taken you for a purveyor of antiquities.”

Logan arched an eyebrow at that and seemed to truly take in his surroundings for the first time.

The tiny storefront was packed to the gills with a mixture of gaudy and tastefully delicate lamps, ashtrays, cuckoo clocks, old wooden shelves and tables covered with an assortment of porcelain figures, brass picture frames displaying daguerreotypes of men, women, children, families long gone. Elegant crystals hung from the ceiling, the chandeliers and wall sconces providing plenty of light despite the storefront windows being tightly covered by canvas pull down curtains. The room was musty, but…pleasantly so; the air was heavy with the comforting scent of worn books and polished hardwood.

The wooden floorboards beneath the tattered Persian rug creaked as Logan turned back to Caliban, his eyebrow still arched. “Music boxes and tea sets?” he growled, not bothering to hide the incredulity in his voice.

Caliban straightened his posture, his chin lifting imperceptibly. “ _Fine china_ tea sets. It’s a respectable business,” he added after a beat, convincing no one, not even himself.

Logan had the audacity to smirk. “And how does that feel, huh? Finally workin’ in a re _spect_ able business?”

His penetrating gaze forced Caliban to look away for a moment, conceding that he’d lost that battle. He felt a tinge of heat flush his cheeks before he added quietly, “I know it won’t…change anything, what I’ve done, but…I’ve left that life now.”

There was a beat and then a gravelly, “Lucky you.” Logan cleared his throat once more, coughing deeply to dislodge whatever it was that seemed to be permanently stuck in his throat. “Look, uh…you still dealin’ in papers?”

Caliban sighed, knowing from the moment he saw his old…what? Not quite friend, but they weren’t exactly enemies either, having found themselves on the same side of the fight on more than one occasion. Either way, he knew whatever Logan needed from him probably wasn’t something he could provide. Not now. Not at this point in his life.

“Not so much,” he explained, his tone tinged with relief. “With all the electronic systems they have in place these days…it was getting harder to bypass their control measures with the tech I had access to. Why? What are you looking for?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Logan sighed and clapped his palms against his thighs, exhaustion evident on his features. “Everything. Need a clean start.”

Caliban studied him for a moment and then – it dawned on him.

_The Westchester Incident._

It had only happened a few months prior and the fallout was still fresh in many people’s minds. The news had said that anyone within a one-mile radius had been affected, that some people, X-Men included, had been killed – their brains nearly liquefied from some type of violent seizure. Caliban had mourned their loss knowing that, even though the names hadn’t been released, that he would have known several of the dead.

It hadn’t occurred to him when Logan first entered that this might have affected him as well. Caliban hadn’t been in that world for some time, though, and from what he knew of Logan – which was terribly little, now that he considered it – he hadn’t been one to stick around. Caliban _did_ , however, know that Logan was associated with the X-Men.

“Logan, I…I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, the mournfulness in his voice genuine.

“So you heard…”

“Of course. Everyone has.” Caliban sat then on his barstool that doubled as his desk chair, slumping slightly as his elongated spine curved inward. “A damn tragedy.”

Logan didn’t agree so much in words, but the way his shoulders had dropped told Caliban that the incident had affected him deeply.

“Were…were you…?”

Logan shook his head, gaze focused on the scuffed and cluttered countertop. “No,” he offered quietly before letting out a deep sigh.

“So…everyone?”

Another sigh. “ _Yeah_. I mean, luckily…we haven’t – _hadn’t_ ,” he corrected himself, with no minor level of frustration in his voice, “had many new students in the last few years and…”

When he trailed off, Caliban allowed him a few moments to continue, but it was obvious that he wasn’t. Logan’s focus was on something else, something unseen, and it was painfully evident to Caliban that whatever had happened had weighed heavily on him.

“So you’re on your own now.”

Caliban’s comment sobered Logan, who seemed to come back to himself then. Even as worn down as he was, he was still a formidable presence.

“Just me. And a friend.”

The tone of his voice let Caliban know that this was all the information he’d be providing on that front and the albino let it rest.

The disjointed _tick-tock-tick-tock_ of the cuckoo clocks seemed impossibly loud in the cramped storefront.

Caliban let another moment pass before adding, “I wish there was something I– ”

“It’s fine,” came the gruff reply, cutting him off before he could utter his full apology. Logan rapped his knuckles on the wooden countertop and gave Caliban a tight smile that didn’t attempt to reach his eyes.

Not content to leave their unexpected reunion at that, Caliban gestured to the yellow cardboard box with red and blue embellishments by the till. “Can I interest you in a cigar?”

Logan’s smile was rueful then. “Better be on the house,” he cracked as he reached for one of the individually wrapped stogies. He took a sniff, his lip curling in involuntary disappointment. “Haven’t seen one of these in about five years – and they weren’t even that good when they were fresh.”

Caliban closed the lid gently, leaving it with a slight tap on the cartoon-ized monarch emblazing the top. “I keep it more for the box than anything.”

“That so?”

“Well, the ladies coming in after touring the quilting museum aren’t exactly huge cigar fans. It’s a nice touch, don’t you think?”

“Hnnh.” Logan considered the cigar once more before tucking it into his breast pocket. He gave Caliban a solemn look before tipping his head. “See ya ‘round, Hound.”

Caliban nodded in return and watched the retreating figure with a level of sadness he hadn’t expected to feel. He looked around his shop as a sudden wave of disgust washed over him. Respectable businesses aside, selling 19th Century charcuterie boards and mother of pearl cheese knives wouldn’t erase all the wrong he’d done, the horrors he’d been a part of, knowingly or not.

Before he knew what he was saying, the word slipped from his mouth. “Logan?”

The older man paused, hand on the polished brass doorknob as he glanced over his shoulder, waiting.

“Check back in a few days. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Logan considered him for a long moment before nodding and slipping back onto the sidewalk, the bell above the door jingling once more.

It was several long minutes before Caliban moved. He hadn’t wanted to open those doors again, not after they had been closed for so long. If it hadn’t been for Westchester, perhaps Caliban could have turned Logan away, left it at him being out of the business. But what had happened at that school had sent a ripple effect across the mutant community in the United States and Canada, if not other parts of the world. Many believed it to be the work of the government, though others with knowledge of how truly powerful Charles Xavier’s mind was ( _is?_ ) had reason to believe otherwise.

Regardless of the cause, with fewer children manifesting these days, the older mutant population was simply aging out of existence. It left those remaining with an even greater sense of kinship, knowing that they were the few – the lucky, the damned, however one wanted to view it – who got to experience this blip in evolutionary history.

Crossword puzzle forgotten, Caliban lifted the till and removed a thin spiral notepad whose sheets had yellowed with time and dust. He had some phone calls to make.


End file.
